


Last Night

by AbhorrentSelkie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Hangover, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, because they're drunk, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbhorrentSelkie/pseuds/AbhorrentSelkie
Summary: Felix wakes feeling like shit, mouth and throat painfully parched, the sunlight streaming through the window trying its damnedest to kill him. He groans, pulling the blanket over his face, trying to ignore the pounding in his head as he struggles to recall the night before. It is a blur, mostly, a series of disjointed memories swirling chaotically through his hungover brain.Felix wakes up hungover after getting dragged out for drinks by Sylvain, and struggles to remember what happened while they were drunk.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 158





	Last Night

Felix wakes feeling like shit, mouth and throat painfully parched, the sunlight streaming through the window trying its damnedest to kill him. He groans, pulling the blanket over his face, trying to ignore the pounding in his head as he struggles to recall the night before.

It is a blur, mostly, a series of disjointed memories swirling chaotically through his hungover brain. He fights them into a semblance of order. Sylvain dragging him out to town, insisting _come on, Fe, it’s just one drink_ , deriding him with taunts of _what, are you some kind of lightweight_ , preying on his absolute refusal to back down from a challenge no matter how ridiculous.

But then what? His head throbs mercilessly as he grapples for the elusive scraps of memory. Sylvain, shamelessly flirting with anything in a skirt, as per the norm. Sylvain trying to play the _wing man_ for a Felix who wanted nothing of it. Felix, more than a few drinks past tipsy, unable to hide his contempt from his insatiable, incorrigible friend. Arguing. Storming away, staggering back toward the monastery. Sylvain chasing after, calling his name. More fighting...

Hot, insistent lips urging his apart, swallowing his small gasps and pathetic whines as his weight crumpled into a strong, steadfast grasp. Fumbling hands, somehow back in Sylvain’s room. Sylvain’s mouth, hot and wet around-

Felix’s face heats as he remembers, and he buries his head in his pillow with a morose groan, willing the goddess to strike him down. That would be better than having to face Sylvain. How _could_ he face Sylvain, after that? Was there any chance Sylvain was so drunk he didn’t remember?

A knock on the door makes Felix practically jump out of his skin. Was it Sylvain? Goddess, what if he wants to talk about- “Felix?” He lets out a breath he didn’t realized he was holding. Mercedes. “Are you awake?”

“What?” he growls.

“I brought you some medicine.” His brow furrows as he tries to figure out how she could have known he needs medicine. “Sylvain said you had a long night,” she giggles before he has the chance to ask. He tries not to think of the implications in that statement.

It takes almost more effort than Felix was able to muster to make it to the door and let her in. She smiles warmly – annoyingly so, Felix decides – as she presents him with a steaming cup of tea. A bitter, pungent aroma wafts toward him, presumably some herbal remedy meant to cure hangovers. He grumbles out a thank you, taking the cup and practically slamming the door in Mercedes’ face; he’ll apologize later.

He sits at the desk to sip on his tea, crinkling his nose at the taste – it’s overwhelmingly bitter, and not in the way he enjoys. He tries not to wallow in his embarrassment. His stomach roils as the memories begin to replay themselves in his mind unbidden, a side-effect of the tea as it does its job. He can feel himself flush again, the fog from the night before lifting.

He remembers more clearly now, the way Sylvain sank to his knees in front of Felix, hazel eyes almost black, pupils blown as his bumbling, drunken hands fought against the ties of Felix’s breeches, clumsily pushing down his smalls to reveal Felix’s half-hard length. The way he stared at it like a man starved, stroking reverently to bring it to full hardness. Felix had never had any hand on him but his own, and Sylvain’s were large, warm, calloused from years of handling a lance.

Then Sylvain ran the flat of his tongue up Felix’s length, and the moan that had escaped Felix’s lips was half-wreaked already. Sylvain teased at the head before wrapping his lips around and taking Felix down to the base in a single, swift movement that made Felix’s toes curl. And, Goddess, was Sylvain a sight to behold as he bobbed up and down, Felix’s fingers wound tight in his fiery hair. And the way he hummed and moaned around Felix, freeing his own cock and stroking himself in time with his own motions…

It hadn’t taken long before Felix neared the edge, tugging on Sylvain’s hair with broken pleas of _Sylvain, I can’t… I’m going to… Syl_ _~_ _vain_ _~_. Sylvain doubled down, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, gazing up at Felix through thick eyelashes, eyes glazed over with lust. That look was enough to send Felix over, and he spilled into Sylvain’s mouth with a debauched moan he had no doubt the boar could hear through the thin walls, if he’d gone that long without hearing anything already.

Sylvain followed suit, spending over his hand. He nuzzled against Felix’s thigh, panting and pliant. It took Felix a few moments to recover himself enough to process what had just happened, and he’d fled back to his own room before Sylvain could get in a word.

Felix buries his face in his hands, the now-empty tea cup abandoned on the desk. There is no way he can face Sylvain. How many nights had he jerked off to the thought of those smoldering hazel eyes; the lilting, carefree laugh that tumbled from Sylvain’s plush, pink lips so readily; those rough hands stroking him to completion as Sylvain buried himself in Felix from behind-

Shameful, lusting after his closest friend. Something Felix had never intended to act on. Something he’d never considered Sylvain might _want…_ Did he want it? Or was last night just some drunken mistake to the redhead, something that he’d only done in the heat of moment because of his inebriation?

With a sigh, Felix stands and dresses for the day. The worst of the hangover is past, thanks to Mercedes’ tea, and hunger gnaws at Felix’s stomach. He makes his way to the dining hall, his scowl apparently doing a good job of keeping his classmates from approaching him. He does a double take when he sees red hair, ready to turn and walk out before he can be noticed, but it is just Leonie enjoying a breakfast with Ashe and Petra. He sits alone, focuses on mechanically shoveling food into his mouth without tasting it.

He hears him before he sees him. “I already said I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Sylvain laughs, and Felix can practically see the look on his face: just a bit too pleased with himself, with a lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“All I ask,” Dimitri says, sounding rather abashed, “is that if you’re going to… entertain, please ask your company to… be mindful that people may be trying to sleep.” Felix feels his face heat. So the boar _did_ hear. Fantastic. It is little consolation to Felix that he doesn’t seem to know _who_ Sylvain was ‘entertaining.’

Felix doesn’t need to look at them to see the wink he flashes the boar. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Honestly,” he hears Ingrid huff, “you enable him too much, Your Highness.” Felix stops listening as she launches into yet another of her lectures, and Felix is sure Sylvain has already stopped listening too.

He keeps his head bowed, stomach tying itself into knots as he tries to focus on eating. Unsurprisingly, the three take their usual seats around him, and he can _feel_ Sylvain’s eyes on him. _He remembers_. If Felix hadn’t been sure before, he is now. “Good morning, Felix,” Dimitri greets brightly. “Do you mind if we join you?” As if they hadn’t already sat down.

“Do what you want,” he bites.

“Ooh, someone’s crabby this morning,” Ingrid teases in the moment before she begins tearing into the mountain of food in front of her. “Serves your right for letting Sylvain drag you out for drinks last night.” He can feel Sylvain stiffen across from him. “What time did you get in last night?”

“I dunno,” he manages. He takes a bite, but it’s ash in his mouth, and he swallows it down with some effort before standing abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Dimitri wonders, his blue eyes full of concern Felix doesn’t want.

“To train,” he grounds out, back already to them.

“I wonder what his problem is,” Ingrid muses.

“I wonder…” he can barely hear Sylvain mutter lamely.

There is no one in the training hall when he arrives, unsurprising as almost everyone else is still at breakfast. He begins methodically venting his emotions on unsuspecting training dummies, not feeling better in the least as they fall to his blade.

Sweat is already sticking his uniform to his skin when he hears the doors open, footfalls echoing on the stone. “Felix.” Of course. _Of fucking course_. Why _wouldn’t_ Sylvain come find him? Why would he take the hint that Felix didn’t want to be around him and seek him out?

“What?” he hisses, not turning to look at the redhead.

“Are you mad?”

Felix swallows. Mad might not have been the word he would have used, but he wasn’t sure _what_ to call the cacophony of feeling that bubbled in his chest like molten iron. “What gives you that idea?”

Sylvain sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix can see him leaning against a column, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Felix freezes, hands falling to his sides. He still doesn’t look. “What for?”

“Last night.” Felix can feel his heart beating in his throat. “I’m sorry if I pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do. You were drunk. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

“You were drunk too.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It was the perfect out. He could take Sylvain’s apology, move on, never talk about what happened again. He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Not as drunk as you.”

Felix says it without thinking. “As if you could make me do something I don’t want to do, drunk or not.”

A heavy silence falls around them. The confession curls in the air like smoke, thick and stinging and transparent. “What do you mean?” Sylvain asks, a hitch in his breath that Felix didn’t expect.

“Don’t make me say it,” Felix huffs, scowling at the dirt.

Sylvain approaches Felix like he is a stray cat, skittish and liable to dart off if spooked. Honestly, the idea is tempting. He stands his ground. Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s eyes as he comes to a stop in front of him, not until a gentle hand tugs on his chin, drawing his face up slowly. This close, Felix can see the dusting of golden freckles over the bridge of Sylvain’s nose, can see his long lashes as they bat against his cheeks when he blinks. “What did you mean?” he pleads softly.

Felix fails to form words in the seconds that follow, breath hitched and heart pounding. He is unsure what possesses him, but in the moment it seems the next best option: he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the lips he’s fantasized about kissing since they were young. And Sylvain kisses him back.

Sylvain is smiling when they break apart a moment later. “If I’d known you felt like that, I would have kissed you a long time ago.” A blush creeps over Felix’s cheeks, and he curses his pale skin.

“You’re one to talk,” Felix huffs.

“Sorry,” he laughs, not sounding sorry in the least. “Let me make it up to you.” He kisses Felix again, deeper this time, cupping his face in both of his large, warm hands, a promise of more to come; all Felix has to do is ask. He breaks the kiss some time later and brushes a strand of hair from Felix’s face, still sweaty from his assault on innocent training dummies. “Oh, Dimitri wanted me to make sure my company keeps their voice down in the future.”

It’s not the kind of joke Sylvain should make when Felix has a sword in hand.


End file.
